Operation Mongolia (S-Squad Book 8)

by William Meikle

  Donnie came out of his fugue when Davies gave him a steaming mug of coffee and a cigarette. It was only then that Donnie looked towards the fire. Little remained of the professor bar the outline of a rib cage and even that collapsed when Wilkins tossed more wood on the flames.

  “There was nothing else we could do,” Davies said softly. “If we’d let those things finish what they were doing, it would have been us next.”

  Donnie nodded, not yet ready to speak, taking a hit of smoke and a mouthful of coffee, knowing that neither would do anything to fill the emptiness he felt gnawing at his insides. He realized that Wiggins had asked a question. He’d missed it.

  “What did you say?” he replied, his voice still sounding echoing and far off in his damaged ears.

  “I said, I’ve been wondering. I think it’s breeding season for yon worms—the rain and water gets them going, they swell up, produce the wee fuckers, and then they’re ready, like big water balloons, to go pop?”

  “Hardly scientific,” Davies replied, “but I think that’s close enough.”

  “Okay, new rule,” Wiggins said. “Don’t shoot any fuckers if they’re above our heads.”

  Donnie didn’t have the energy to reply and even the sound of an engine approaching outside wasn’t enough to get him to drag his gaze away from the fire.

  - 19 -

  Banks and Hynd made good time after leaving the dry riverbed behind. The weather had improved markedly, the lack of rain giving their headlights a wider range. They were now able to more easily pick out the rock from the sand and they maintained a better speed than they’d been managing previously. They smoked as they finished the coffee, passing the thermos between them.

  “Do you think there are more big buggers like that last one?” Hynd said after a while.

  Banks nodded.

  “The water’s got them all swelling up is what I think. It might only happen once a decade when the big rains come, but I think we’ve had the misfortune to arrive slap-bang in the middle of the fuckers’ breeding season.”

  “And what happens next with them?” Hynd asked.

  “I’ll be buggered if I know, Sarge, and I don’t care. Let’s just get the professor and the lad home. That’s all I care about now.”

  It only took them twenty minutes to cover the ground it had taken them hours of running to cross. They arrived back at the settlement on the rocky outcrop under a clear starry sky and saw Wiggins coming down the steps to meet them as they parked.

  Banks took one look at the corporal’s face and knew it wasn’t going to be a happy reunion.

  Once they got to the top of the rock, Banks took Wiggins’ report out of earshot, standing outside the doorway while the others gathered their kit inside.

  “I don’t know what else I could have done, sir,” Wiggins said when he was done. “The big fucker was on the roof and when Wilkins hit it, it just fell apart and…”

  Banks put a hand on Wiggins’ shoulder.

  “Don’t sweat it, Wiggo. We saw the same thing out there tonight and it surprised me as much as it surprised you. You kept your head, the squad did what it had to. The man’s death isn’t down to you.”

  Wiggins managed a grateful grin.

  “Reid’s in shock,” he said. “He’s coming ‘round but we’ll need to keep an eye on him.”

  “Hopefully not for too long now,” Banks replied. “A few hours on the road then we’ll be in town and hopefully able to get some word out about the situation. Get your gear, Wiggo. We’re heading for home.”

  *

  When Banks went into the room, he saw that Reid stood staring into what were now the dying embers of the fire.

  “We can’t just leave him here,” the younger man said softly. “It’s not right.”

  “What’s right is we get you home so you can tell his story,” Banks replied. “It’s all any of us can really hope for and we know where he is—we’ll someone to come and fetch the remains home.”

  “Aye,” Reid replied. “Him and his finds can go home in the same box.”

  Reid turned away without another word.

  Before leaving, Banks had Davies and Wiggins collect the ceramic jars and copper wire and stow them in the rear of the truck. The vases sat alongside the kit bags under the feet of Davies, Wilkins, Wiggins, and Reid where the men sat up on the rough benches that ran down the side of the bed of the truck.

  “Just in case,” he said when he saw Hynd’s querying look. He got in the passenger seat and Hynd took the driving duties again. “South, the way we came in. When we hit the road, go east until the service station. We’ll stop there to give you a break and see what’s what.”

  They set off south, the truck’s suspension creaking and squealing under the extra weight of the men in the back.

  *

  The sun was lighting the eastern sky by the time they reached the east-west track. It had been a bumpy twenty minutes and more than once Banks had heard squeals of protest from the men in the back, but the ride smoothed out when they reached the road and it only took them ten minutes after that to reach the service station. Although it had only been half an hour of driving, the effort of keeping control in the rutted ground had obviously tired Hynd after the exertions of the night before.

  “Fag break time,” Banks said as they approached the service station, “then I’ll take a spell at the wheel for a bit.”

  The station was as deserted as before, with no sign that anyone had passed since their visit of the day before. The sun came up into a clear sky, the cloud having completely disappeared, heat haze already rising on the horizon. Both rocky ground and sand looked dry, as if last night’s rain was no more than a memory.

  “What’s the plan, Cap?” Wiggins said as the squad gathered at the rear of the truck to stretch their legs, get some water in them, and have a smoke.

  “We head east,” Banks said. “There’s a town a few hours’ drive away and that’s where we’re headed. I’m hoping this road takes us straight there. Is that right, Doctor Reid?”

  Reid hadn’t joined them and was still sitting on the bench in the truck, his head down. When he looked up, his eyes were red-rimmed as if from crying.

  “Aye, it should take you straight to town if my bearings are right.”

  Banks saw that the man was hurting and offered something he thought might help.

  “We can afford a detour—we could go south and pick up your finds.”

  “Fuck them,” Reid said harshly. “Whoever comes for the professor can get them all at the same time. I just want to get home.”

  “Amen to that,” Wiggins said softly beside Banks.

  Five minutes later, they were on the way again, with Hynd in the passenger seat and Banks driving.

  *

  The truck felt cumbersome and heavy, unresponsive to the accelerator unless it was pressed to the floor, wallowing in any slightly softer areas and squealing ever more loudly in both axles every time they hit a bump.

  “This thing’s liable to rattle to bits before we get too much farther,” Hynd said, lighting another smoke from the butt of the last one.

  Banks took the speed down from twenty miles an hour to around eighteen and the ride smoothed out a bit, although the squealing in the suspension didn’t appear to diminish any. It was getting uncomfortably warm in the driving cab now, even with the windows wide open, and he felt sweat trickle down his back.

  It’s going to be a long day.

  At least the track was a straight line heading east but the heat haze meant that anything beyond a few hundred yards was merely shimmering in the distance. They didn’t spot the hollow until they were almost on top of it; the ground fell away in a dip that ran from their northwest to the southeast, a dip that looked to be more than a mile wide. Banks knew exactly what he was looking at.

  “I think it’s all part of the same dry riverbed system,” he said. “This used to be a lake at one time, probably one that the river ran into.”

  He brought the
truck to a halt at the highest point, looking across the wide expanse of sand. The other side—if there was another side—was invisible in the haze.

  “You think this is where the worms that we saw last night were headed? Some kind of final breeding ground?” Hynd asked.

  “Given what we’ve seen so far, I wouldn’t bet against it.”

  “Do you think we can get across?”

  Banks didn’t answer, getting out of the truck to stand on the ridge for a better look down. There was a clear track from their position into the hollow and across the lakebed, but it looked more like compressed sand than rock and stone and the fact that they couldn’t see the far side disturbed him.

  “What’s the holdup, Cap?” Wiggins asked. Banks saw that the corporal was already red in the face, developing sunburn from sitting up exposed in the back of the truck.

  Banks quickly explained to the others about the migration of worms that he’d seen the night before.

  “Aye, but they only come out in the rain, don’t they?” Wiggins said.

  “You want to bet against your pension on that, lad?”

  “No, but I’m willing to bet yours, Cap.”

  “What’s the alternative?” Hynd added.

  “Going back to the service station, heading south to the dig site and along the roadway there?” Banks said.

  Reid spoke up.

  “It’s not any better than this—there’s a big dip just like this one, although I’ve never had any problems driving across it.”

  Banks looked down into the hollow again. His gut was telling him it was a bad idea but he was more than ready to get home and by the fastest means possible. He nodded, coming to a decision.

  “We’ll chance it. If we’re lucky, we’ll all be in a bar waiting for a lift by this afternoon. You guys in the back keep your eyes peeled and shout if you see anything but I’m not intending to stop for a photo opportunity.”

  *

  They headed down into the hollow. The truck wallowed as soon as they left rock and drove onto the sandier terrain but it kept going forward although the top speed was little more than ten miles an hour. The engine ran hotter than it should and they belched out blue smoke from the exhaust. Banks was starting to think the sarge might be right about it rattling apart before the day was out.

  But we’re still heading in the right direction.

  Half a mile in, Wiggins banged on the roof above Banks and shouted.

  “Movement, nine o’ clock.”

  Banks looked out his window and saw the surface of the sand dance as several large humps surged through it, worms and large ones by the look of it but heading away to the west. He didn’t slow but only ten seconds later, Wiggins banged and shouted again.

  “Movement, eleven o’clock, a hundred yards.”

  Banks saw it just in time to slam on the brakes. The truck skidded to a halt in a flurry of sand as a six-foot-high mound went left to right across the track directly in front of them, churning up the road surface and leaving a small hollow in its wake.

  Davies banged on the roof above Hynd.

  “Movement. Three o’clock, fifty yards…and six o’clock, thirty yards.”

  Banks sat there with the engine grumbling over as another mound even larger than the first went across his field of view churning up the track.

  We’re surrounded.

  - 20 -

  Donnie had only been paying a minimum of attention. His mind was too full of images of the professor struggling to escape from the confines of his sleeping bag even as the worms burrowed their way into him, and of the older man’s body burning in the fire pit, the worms popping and crackling as the flames took them. He wasn’t ever going to be able to forget those sights, sounds…and smells, but when Wiggins shouted, Donnie looked up.

  “Movement, nine o’ clock.”

  He looked over the side of the truck to see a large mound traverse the sand with more rising up on the same side but farther out. Wiggins called out again, looking across the top of the driving cab to the front of the truck. Then Davies shouted from the other side.

  Donnie saw the situation immediately; they were surrounded and if the worms attacked now, the professor’s fate might be in store for all of them. He tugged at Wilkins’ arm.

  “Give me a hand here, Private,” he said, bending to grab one of the ceramic vases and lift it up onto the bench. “We need to get these arranged such that we can all stand inside a circle.”

  The truck lurched to a halt, almost knocking Donnie to the deck, and for a terrible second, he lost his grip on the vase then corrected and caught it before it could smash on the bed of the truck.

  “Quickly now,” he said as the others, seeing what he was doing, moved to help. “We might not get a second chance.”

  They arranged the ceramic pots on the bench seats on either side of the truck and Donnie completed the circuit by attaching the last on the left to the last on the right across the back end. Immediately, there was a faint but distinctive hum that could be heard even above the thrum of the truck’s engine.

  “Cap, Sarge,” Wiggins shouted, reaching over the copper wire and banging on the top of the driver’s cab. “Get up here. We’re protected but you might not be.”

  The engine cut off and the hum got louder as Banks and Hynd clambered out of the cab and came up to join the others standing in a tight circle inside the protective ring. Out in the lakebed, the sand seethed and boiled as a dozen worms, none smaller than four feet in width, surged under and through the sandy substrate, circling, spiraling slowly inwards towards the truck.

  *

  “Now what?” Captain Banks asked and Donnie realized the question had been directed at him.

  “Well, it worked up on the rock; the electrical field kept the worms at bay—and at least here we won’t get any crawling about above our heads.”

  “That’s true enough,” Banks replied. “But it also means we’re stuck here until we come up with a better plan.”

  “Or the batteries go flat,” Wiggins added.

  “You’re not helping, Wiggo,” Hynd said.

  “Story of my life,” the corporal replied, then there was no time to talk as one of the large worms swerved suddenly in its track and headed straight at the back of the truck.

  The soldiers to a man unslung their rifles and Donnie, remembering the cacophony up on the rock, took out a handkerchief, ripped it in two, rolled it up, and stuffed the small cartridges in his ears. He was grateful for it seconds later.

  Initially, it looked like the worm intended to barrel into the truck but it was brought up short when the copper wire took on the familiar golden glow and the humming vibration of the protective field sent the whole truck bed thrumming. The worm rose up out of the sand, a five-foot-wide tube of glistening bright red, mouth gaping and showing a forest of the pencil-thick fangs.

  “Fire,” Banks shouted and the air filled with the crack and roar of gunfire.

  The worm blew apart like a popped balloon…and scattered a myriad of tiny worms into the air. Most fell onto the sand below the tumbling body, some hit the protective field and began to burn, but a score and more of them got through and tumbled onto the bed of the truck. They immediately slithered towards the men’s feet.

  Wiggins was fastest to react, striding forward and stomping, almost jumping, on the squirming things, mashing them quickly to a pulp underfoot.

  “Top tip,” he shouted once he was sure he’d got them all, “if you’re going to shoot one of the big fuckers, make sure it’s not going to shite these wee fuckers all over us.”

  A second worm rose up in the air on the left-hand side of the truck, close enough to reach out and touch.

  “Don’t shoot,” Banks shouted.

  The worm came out of the sand high enough that Donnie looked right down its gaping throat. The copper wire glowed golden and the vibration rose to a howl. Blue static crackled across the worm’s body. It leaned forward as if intent on attack only to draw away back into the s
and when the defensive field flared in a blast of gold.

  Something shifted underneath them, the truck taking a lurch to the left of several inches before settling. Out in the desert, more sand was displaced as large worms burrowed and seethed, moving faster now as if angered that they couldn’t get to their prey.

  Donnie sensed the tension in the squad. He felt like a spare wheel, surrounded by armed men when he had nothing but the wads of cotton in his ears with which to defend himself so he was surprised when Banks once again turned to him for advice.

  “This wee field of yours, does it cover the whole truck including the driving cab?”

  Donnie thought about it before replying and knew what the captain was asking—can we drive through this?

  “It might work but we’d have to hold the urns on the roof above you and you have to go slow.”

  “Aye, well I wasn’t planning an auditioning for Le Mans,” Banks replied dryly, then helped Donnie shift the two nearest vases up onto the driver cab roof.

  “Wilko, Davies, you’re up. Hold these in place here.”

  “I’ve got one of them,” Donnie said. “You might need the extra gun.”

  Banks nodded, clapped Donnie on the shoulder, slung his weapon so that it wouldn’t impede him, and being careful to avoid the copper wire lowered himself off the truck bed and ‘round into the driver’s seat. He turned as he was about to duck through the door, looking straight at Donnie and smiling.

  “And if this doesn’t work, I’ll be back to haunt your arse.”

  I’m going to be haunted enough already, thanks anyway.

  - 21 -

  Banks made sure he had his rifle on his lap and in easy reach before settling into his driving position. He had a distant hum in his ears and when he touched the steering wheel, he felt an electric tingle run up his hands, wrists, and forearms. Directly ahead of the truck, worms continued to crisscross the track across the lakebed, churning up the sand into ridges and troughs. It was going to make for a bumpy ride.